


Thin Blue Pyjama Pants

by insertcreativeao3namehere



Category: Love Simon (2018), Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli
Genre: First Time, Frottage, Kind of a Mix of Book Compliant and Movie Compliant?, M/M, Simon Can't Even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 08:12:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14160510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insertcreativeao3namehere/pseuds/insertcreativeao3namehere
Summary: Bram’s still in his pyjamas when Simon comes to visit and Simon can’t even.





	Thin Blue Pyjama Pants

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of both movie compliant and book compliant, I think? Probably?
> 
> Again using non-US spelling (except "mom") because I don't know how to not.

It’s Saturday morning, and Simon has foregone what he really should have taken as an excellent opportunity for a sleep-in to show up on Bram’s doorstep at 8:03am.

 

He feels more than a little silly about it. They’d arranged to “hang out” today (what exactly that would entail, Simon isn't sure, but he has his ideas), but this was quite possibly overkill. He goes to ring the doorbell, then decides abruptly that it would be better to call, to hopefully avoid an awkward encounter with Bram’s mother answering the door.

 

He’s hoping she’s not home at all, actually, and that she’ll be at work, given that she’s an epidemiologist and they probably don’t work regular Monday to Friday business hours, do they? He’s not really sure. He pulls out his phone and dials Bram’s number, which rings six agonising times before being answered.

 

“Simon, hey,” says a very befuddled voice, clearly thick with sleep, and Simon immediately feels kind of guilty but also _extremely_ endeared.

 

“Hey. Um. I’m outside,” Simon replies, more than a little sheepishly.

 

“Oh, wow,” Bram says, sounding marginally more alert now, and Simon can hear him shifting around. “Not that I’m complaining, at all, but this is definitely earlier than I was expecting. Give me a second and I’ll let you in.”

 

“Okay. Uh, take your time, I’m sorry I woke you.”

 

“No, no, it’s cool, trust me,” Bram says, and Simon can hear more shifting, the creaking of a door. “I’m, uh. I am glad you’re here.” Simon’s heart does something very strange and very gay in response to that. “I’ll be down in a sec.”

 

Bram hangs up, and Simon leans against the wall in front of the door, trying to appear nonchalant. He twists his hands together, then tucks his thumbs into his belt loops, then wonders if that’s too cliché a pose.

 

Simon is definitely aware of how lame it sounds, but he really hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Bram now that they’re actually together. It’s been a couple of weeks now and he still can’t stop marvelling over it. It’s honestly too perfect that Blue ended up being Bram. Now everything is new and familiar at the same time – he knows Bram so, so well, they’ve spent _months_ getting to know each other, but all the little physical details that he’s had much less time to adjust to are still tripping him up. The hundred different ways that he smiles, the way he hooks his hand behind his neck when he’s nervous or bashful, the way he bites his lip when he’s worried but also when he’s being mischievous and his lips quirk up around his teeth cheekily. The way he laughs when something surprises him, startled and carefree. And, yes, the insane, truly _insane_ levels of hotness which frequently send Simon’s brain entirely offline. He still hasn’t had time to stop feeling bowled over by all those crazy, amazing little details. He doesn’t know when, or even if, he ever will.

 

The front door opens, and Simon’s brain up and leaves the building.

 

Bram stands in the doorframe, and he’s still wearing his pyjamas – of course he is, it makes sense, Simon _did_ wake him up – and just. Wow. Simon really, absolutely cannot deal. He’s wearing a soft, loose shirt that drapes over his shoulders in such a way that it exposes his collarbone, which is already quite enough to be dealing with. But then there’s the pants. They’re not exactly tight, but they’re not as loose as the shirt either, and they are very, _very_ thin. Simon has no idea what the material is, but he’s very grateful for its existence. The pants are chequered and light blue, because of course they are, and because they’re so thin Simon can easily see the outline of Bram’s entire lower half, and. Wow.

 

“Hi,” Bram says, after a long, lingering beat, and Simon snaps his eyes back up to Bram’s face. Has he noticed? Simon can’t tell if he’s noticed. He _was_ staring pretty damn blatantly.  

 

Simon swallows, and his mouth is really very dry. “Hi,” he says back, and his voice doesn’t seem to come out noticeably squeaky or anything, despite the very sandpapery feeling of his throat, which is relieving. “Sorry I showed up at weekday o’clock.”

 

That… didn’t sound as funny as it did in his head. Bram chuckles anyway. “It’s fine, don’t be, really. Come in,” he says, and moves aside to let Simon pass by him, shutting the door behind them both. Their arms brush together as he passes, and _really._ Something as basic as _arms brushing_ shouldn’t set his heart racing when they’ve already made out multiple times, but it does.

 

“Do you want breakfast or anything?” Bram asks, hovering next to him in the hall.

 

Breakfast is absolutely the last thing on Simon’s mind right now, but he hasn’t eaten anything, so it’s probably a good idea, and Bram won’t have eaten anything either, so if he’s asking it could be because he wants to eat himself, which is frankly fair enough. “Sure,” he answers, and Bram walks ahead of him towards the kitchen, and Simon’s gaze dips again to those thin blue pants and the shapes revealed from this excellent new viewpoint. They really leave nothing to the imagination, Simon thinks, and then immediately reflects that that’s such a cliché thing to think, because of course they leave plenty to the imagination. The dark skin that would be visible in their absence, lightly fuzzed over with hair, the muscles shifting beneath…

 

Simon tries to shake himself out of it, and fails. Of course, Bram’s legs have _definitely_ entered his radar before, and his soccer calves in particular have captured his attention, especially when Bram wears shorts. But the shape of him wasn’t something he had really, fully taken in before now, and these thin blue pyjama pants really let him appreciate that in an entirely new way.

 

Simon suddenly realises that Bram has said something, now that they’ve entered the kitchen, and he completely missed what it was. Ears burning, he says something along the lines of “sorry, didn’t catch that – “ he’s really not aware of what’s coming out of his mouth – but Bram grins easily at him, eyes crinkling up and teeth fully showing, one of Simon’s favourite variations on his smile. His heart skips and stutters in response to this particularly lovely smile, as Bram repeats, “I said, cereal okay?”

 

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Simon answers, wondering if his voice sounds as choked as he thinks it might, and he decides to sit himself down at the table and try not to stare openly at the elongated, rounded shape of Bram’s thighs while he fixes them a couple of bowls of cornflakes.

 

Needless to say, he fails.

 

“Sorry, we don’t have any Oreo O’s,” Bram jokes as he slides the bowl towards Simon, quirking him yet another truly disarming little grin. Simon laughs, all the while thinking he might die a little, figuratively speaking of course.

 

He’s not entirely sure what their conversation consists of while they eat, given that his brain still has yet to properly reboot and all, but he suspects it’s a kind of semi-awkward, semi-companionable silence. Then Bram gets up to rinse out the cereal bowls, and Simon’s eyes slide predictably right back to the pants, or more specifically to the really quite excellent rounded ass hinted at by them, half-hidden by the drape of the slightly oversized shirt.

 

Bram turns back around, and Simon’s eyes are precisely level with the bulge above his thighs (slight, but still definitely noticeable, because he’s not hard, although in these pants it would probably be very easy to tell if he was). Simon tears his eyes away after a too-long, probably-noticeable lingering look, and he tucks his hand up behind his own neck, ducking his head in a gesture he’s noticed Bram doing before. It’s a good look on him. Although, to be fair, everything’s a good look on him. Bram mirrors him, hooking his hand behind his neck too, biting his lip. They lock eyes, neither of them saying anything for a moment, and the silence is awkward and wonderful and brilliant all at once.

 

“Um.” Several different options stretch in front of him, so of course Simon goes for the really terrible, completely transparent line, “so is your mom home?”

 

Bram chuckles lowly. “Nah, she’s at work.” He steps towards Simon, who shifts in his chair a little to face outwards, towards him. Bram smirks a little, biting his lip again as he stands in front of Simon. “Any particular reason for asking?”

 

Simon laughs shakily, and lets his eyes wander back up Bram’s body to his face again. He’s been half-hard since Bram opened the door, to be perfectly honest, although his jeans seem to be doing a decent job of disguising that. Bram’s wearing another of his extremely appealing smiles, this one a delightfully mischievous half-smile, half-smirk. Simon can’t help but think that Bram knows exactly what he’s doing to him by now, or at the very least that he has an inkling.

 

“Just that your pyjama pants are actually killing me,” Simon gets out breathlessly. “I mean, figuratively.”

 

Bram gives that startled little laugh that Simon already loves. “Really?” He sounds surprised.

 

“You hadn’t noticed? I’ve been, like, shamelessly ogling you since you opened the door.”

 

 _“Really,”_ Bram says again, the intonation entirely different this time, not a question at all. He rests his hands on Simon’s shoulders, leans right into him and kisses him. It’s slow but deep, probing, and utterly toe-curling. Simon’s heart thumps away, hard and fast like it’s trying to launch itself right out of his chest, and there’s a twisting feeling low in his belly, around the base of his spine. He’s aware that he’s achingly hard now, and as Bram shifts towards him, lowering his body a little to press into Simon’s space and slinging his arms over Simon’s shoulders to support himself, the realisation slams into him that Bram is too.

 

He can’t tell if his theory about how revealing these magnificent pants would be is right, because they’re too close together to be able to see anymore, and oh. Simon shifts his legs further open to allow Bram to properly slot in between them, and they’re pressed together all the way down, shifting together as the kiss becomes steadily more frantic and more uncoordinated.

 

They’re still in the _kitchen._

 

Simon can’t bring himself to care, though. Even through his jeans the friction is incredible, and he realises that he’s not doing anything with his hands, so he slides them around to Bram’s back and, mustering his courage, continues his trajectory slowly down until he’s cupping Bram’s ass through the blessedly thin, soft material covering it. Bram gasps into his mouth, a truly incredible sound that shivers over Simon’s skin in an electric rush, and as their hips continue slamming together their heads shift and their teeth clack suddenly together, which sends something else sharp and shocking rocketing through him. Before he knows it, before he can get himself together enough to warn Bram, which he totally would have done had he the wherewithal or the wits about him, he comes in a white-hot rush that sizzles across his skin and right through his veins. He feels it everywhere.

 

He realises, once the deliciously lingering aftershocks are over and his brain has unscrambled itself, that he’s squeezing the handful of Bram’s ass he’s got really rather tightly, hanging on for dear life. He loosens his grip, shifts his hands, and Bram gives an incredible shuddery gasp and chokes out, right into Simon’s ear, “Did you just – “

 

“Yeah, sorry, it was really sudden, I meant to like, warn you, or ask you – “ Simon starts, and Bram’s _still shifting against him,_ and the slight sense of embarrassment he feels at coming so quickly is dim in comparison to the hazy but overwhelming thought that he never really knew it could feel like this.

 

“Nonono, it’s fine, don’t be,” Bram cuts him off, “it’s – was hot,” and Simon is completely, thoroughly astounded by the thready incoherence of his voice. That sentence didn’t even make _sense,_ and Bram normally chooses his words so carefully, so it does _things_ to Simon of both the sexual and non-sexual variety that his usual eloquence has gone out the window and his expression has become so jumbled. His heart clenches. He shifts his grip on Bram again, sliding his hands down to his thighs and back up, and he tilts his head towards Bram’s ear, thinking about trying to say something sexy but chickening out, deciding to instead slot his mouth over Bram’s earlobe, half-instinct, and graze his teeth there, just the barest hint. Bram makes the most incredible, bitten-off, sobby sound that shivers over Simon’s everything, and stills against him. Simon can feel his thighs trembling where they’re flush against his.

 

They remain like that, frozen still against each other, pressed close, for a few breathless moments, and then Simon moves his hands off where he’s suddenly realised they’ve been lingering and laughs shakily, sheepishly. Bram laughs too, against the skin of Simon’s neck, his breath tickling and making Simon tense up against him.

 

“I really did mean to, uh, go over what we both wanted before anything,” Simon manages to get out, voice still embarrassingly breathless.

 

“Me too,” Bram agrees, and Simon is relieved to note that his voice is still all breathless and shaky too. “I had fully intended to make sure we were on the same page and everything first, but you were just… _so_ distracting.”

 

“ _I_ was distracting?” Simon replies incredulously. “Look, no, I blame your pyjama pants for making my brain jump ship completely.”

 

Bram huffs out another soft laugh into Simon’s skin, and Simon becomes acutely aware once again, right in the middle of the moment, that, somehow, this is his life.

 

 _How_ is this his life?

 

He shifts his hands up and slides them over Bram’s shoulder blades, breathing it in for a moment. Words dance around in his throat, almost ready to be said, but he feels like now would be kind of the wrong time to say them.

 

Even if he’s pretty damn sure they’re true.


End file.
